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 (Book xiii. § 56, p. 940.)

Archianássa's my own one, The sweet courtesan, Colophónian; E'en from her wrinkles I feel Love's irresistible steel!

O ye wretches, whose hunger Was raised for her when she was younger! Through what flames, alas, Must she have forced you to pass!—

(Book xiii. § 71, p. 953.)

Such was the nymph, whom Orpheus led From the dark regions of the dead, Where Charon with his lazy boat Ferries o'er Lethe's sedgy moat; Th' undaunted minstrel smites the strings, His strain through hell's vast concave rings: Cocytus hears the plaintive theme, And refluent turns his pitying stream; Three-headed Cerberus, by fate Posted at Pluto's iron gate, Low-crouching rolls his haggard eyes Ecstatic, and foregoes his prize; With ears erect at hell's wide doors Lies listening, as the songster soars: Thus music charm'd the realms beneath, And beauty triumph'd over death.

The bard, whom night's pale regent bore, In secret, on the Athenian shore, Musæus, felt the sacred flame, And burnt for the fair Theban dame Antiope, whom mighty Love Made pregnant by imperial Jove; The poet plied his amorous strain, Press'd the fond fair, nor press'd in vain, For Ceres, who the veil undrew, That screen'd her mysteries from his view,